


The Strays of Westeros

by TeamGwenee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Torchwood
Genre: Crack, F/M, Fluff, Like the dorkiest thing ever, Teeny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:15:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24777490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: When Ser Jaime Lannister, Brienne of Tarth, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, Lord Tyrion Lannister, King Robb Stark and his sister, Princess Arya, fall through a rift in time and space and find themselves in twenty first century Cardiff, many challenges await them. It is down to the Torchwood team to help them navigate their new life. From strange new foods to terrifying inventions. The shower, for example.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Minor Captain Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Past Jaime Lannister/Cersei Lannister
Comments: 17
Kudos: 67





	1. Arrivals

**Author's Note:**

> Combining two of my favourite fandoms. Total self-indulgence. No regrets.

  
  


They found themselves in a hard, dark grey courtyard, with vicious yellow lanterns glaring upon them. Watching them closely, their faces calm as though they were awaiting their arrival, was a group of five. Three men, two woman, all dressed very strangely. 

The man at the centre was clearly the leader. His stance, hands on hips and legs firmly rooted to the ground marked him as such. But it was the young woman at his side who made the first move, swiftly stepping forward to help a grubby child with a matted bird’s nest of hair stumble to her feet.

The woman knelt down, holding both the child’s filth covered hands in her own.

“Are you alright sweetheart?” she asked in a musical voice. “Have you been hurt?”

The child shook both legs and arms, and then a head. “No,” the child; a girl and highly born from her voice, said slowly. The woman squeezed her arm and turned to the second girl, whose silvery hair sent a jolt down Jaime’s spine.

The other four also began helping the others clamber to their feet. A skinny man wearing a jacket of leather and trousers of a queer, rough material helped a cursing Tyrion to stand. Another man wearing a softer cloth of grey, with a jaunty purple fabric concoction tied around his neck came to Jaime’s aid. Somewhere further along Jaime caught sight of the second lady moving towards a red haired youth.

Jaime blinked, breathed in and out, regaining his senses. He caught sight of the first woman gently asking the two young girls questions. Who were they, where did they come from, what did they last remember? She was petite, wearing the same rough breeches of her comrade; which clung to her legs, and a tightly fitted leather jacket. Jaime saw his brother; last seen being escorted to a cell to await trial for murdering the king, watching the woman with pleasure. A satisfied connoisseur of women even in his dazed state. 

Her freckles were numerous enough to rival even Brienne’s, and her guileless green eyes were pretty enough also. A gap between her front teeth gave her an endearing smile as she spoke softly to the girls.

Brienne.

Jaime’s heart lurched and he looked to his side where Brienne had been standing moments ago in, before they were engulfed in the blinding blue and silver light. She was staggering to her feet, her movements even clumsier and lumbering than usual. As she tripped over the skirts of her blue dress, the leader of the band held one of her hands in his own, and had placed another hand on her back.

“You alright?” he asked in a strange, drawling accent. His was an obnoxiously handsome face, with a strong chiselled jawline and easy smile. Jaime’s senses quite returned to him, he took a step to Brienne’s side and glowered at the stranger, whose eyes flickered back and forth, feasting upon them both as though he could not quite decide which one he found more pleasing. 

From the corner of Jaime’s eye he spotted Tyrion smirking. It had not been since the days of Rhaegar Targaryen and Arthur Dayne that Jaime’s status as most handsome man in the room had been under threat.

It was not out of insecurity that Jaime stepped forward to block the cocky smiling shit from Brienne’s gaze, but out of a respect for an already overwhelmed Brienne’s sensibilities. Too much beauty was dangerous for a woman so impartial towards a pretty face.

Drawing himself to his full height, Jaime glowered down at the leader and spoke in his most booming, Lion of Lannister voice.

“Listen here. You will tell me, who you are, where we are, and how we have come to be here, or know my displeasure,” Jaime declared. 

The man gave a delighted shiver. “Oooh, gotta love a man with authority. Remind me to really try it out later.”

The freckled woman’s rebuke of “ _Jack_!” was drowned out by a furious roar of “You!” 

Jaime spun round to see the red haired youth clutching the filthy girl to his chest, quivering with rage. The girl’s face was equally thunderous. Oh shit.

“You, Kingslayer!”

Robb Stark released his lost sister, who sprang forward like a vengeful cheetah. The skinny man caught a hold of the scruff of Robb Stark’s tunic, whilst the third man caught Arya Stark round the middle.

“Let me go!” she hissed, thrashing her legs and cursing. “Let him go, let me get the kingslaying cunt.”

“Wait!” the silvery blonde cried. “ _He’s_ the Kingslayer?”

Double shit. 

“Well this is some company to find yourself in, brother,” Tyrion said, still smiling, the little shit. When Jaime had returned to find Tyrion missing, presumed escaped, he had been relieved and concerned for his little brother in equal measure. The shit eating grin on Tyrion’s face made Jaime sympathise with Cersei’s desire to cut if off.

“You know this man?” the freckled woman said.

“He ambushed my father, stabbed his leg, and killed our men in the streets. His father sent brutes to destroy our mother’s homeland, and his evil little shit of a son and his sister had our father’s head cut off when he threatened to reveal their treason,” Robb Stark snarled. 

“He swore a holy vow to protect my father from all harm and slit his throat” Daenerys Targaryen cried.

“He’s a piece of shit and I’m going to eat his eyeballs for what he did to my family!” Arya Stark had the last words.

The freckled woman looked warily over to ‘Jack’. 

“So I suppose separate accommodation is in order then?”

~

The woman, who had introduced herself as Gwen Cooper, took the simmering young ones towards a giant black metal wheelhouse. Tyrion watched them be led away, his ears searching for the familiar neighs and snuffles of horses. None that he could hear.

Jaime’s blonde giantess watched them anxiously, having been kept from pursuing Catelyn Stark’s disappeared children. Her hand flexed miserably at her side, as though reaching for the sword the Bloody Mummers had taken from her.

_Jaime had been about to give her a sword, of Valyrian Steel. And have her call it Oathkeeper._

Arya Stark had long been presumed dead, vanished into thin air since her father’s beheading. The Freys had talked at length about the Young Wolf’s disappearance, of how he had been engulfed in a harsh blue light, never to be seen again. The Gods’ work, in the eyes of some, a dirty lie to cover his murder, in the eyes of others, and a lie just as believable as the one about him turning into a direwolf and savaging the guests. 

For Jaime to turn up here with two out of five Stark children, and the last Targaryen to boot, was spectacularly bad luck. Surrounded by enemies, with ‘Captain Jack’ the most pressing of them all it seemed, if the glares Jaime was sending the man’s way were to be believed. 

“You still haven’t told us where we are, or who the hell you are” Jaime growled.

Captain Jack nodded, his face turning sombre. “You will be fully debriefed once we return to the Hub, but in short, you have all fallen through a rift in time and space.”

“A what?” Tyrion interjected.

“Think of it like a rip, a hole in the fabric of the universe. Through this hole, objects, creatures, even people fall. Wherever they are, whenever they are, they fall through the rift, and come here.”

“And where is ‘here’?” Brienne pressed, guarded and wary.

“Cardiff, 2020, Wales, the United Kingdom, Planet Earth of the Milky Way Galaxy. And we,” Captain Jack announced, flourishing his arm, “are Torchwood.” 

~

Settling in strays from space was not a new job for the Torchwood Team. Tosh began hacking into Government databases and making false documents to create new identities for them. Owen gave them physicals while Ianto went about gathering toiletries and other necessities. Jack went to brood on a rooftop. It was left to Gwen to help the Westerosis to adjust, speaking to each of them, finding out their pasts and beginning to explain the wonder that was modern day Cardiff. 

It was swiftly arranged for Daenerys and the Stark children to move in with a retired couple from UNIT, who would act as their guardians and arrange tutoring for them, and in time suitable schools. A house was sorted out for Brienne, Jaime and Tyrion, along with a small allowance to help them get by. 

Speaking to the lot for five minutes, Gwen deduced therapy was also something they all needed in abundance. 

Jack quirked an eyebrow at the suggestion. He had lived hundreds of years as an immortal being, dying then being resurrected. He had known death, betrayal and loss all without therapy, and it hadn’t killed him yet. “If you want to arrange psychiatrists for the strays, that will mean telling the therapist all about the Rift, and about Westeros, and about Torchwood,” he pointed out.

“We’ll get them to sign the official secrets act. Jack, we drive around in a giant SUV with Torchwood written on the side, and you tell everyone you meet about the 6,000-foot tall fire squid alien you shagged-”

“Technically it was a demon.”

“I think we can swing some mental health care for the teenager who was married off at thirteen by her insane brother.” Gwen looked out of the window where the new arrivals were gathered around Tosh’s desk, as their technological genius was calmly explaining the intricacies of the shower to them.

“The kids could really build a life here,” Gwen mused. “Get them tutoring, help them catch up. They might need to take their exams a little later than their peers, but they could still have a bit of a childhood, go to school and hang around the park instead of leading armies and ruling nations.”

“You’re going to send the King in the North and Mother of Dragons to school?” Ianto asked, arriving in Jack’s office with a tray. Black coffee for Jack, hot chocolate topped with cream and marshmallows for Gwen, who was starting to get that look on her face she always got after listening to a torrent of hard luck cases. The one that meant she needed chocolate. “I would like to see that.”

Gwen inhaled her hot chocolate. “How come?”

“It’s like you said. They’ve been crowned, paid homage to, and have been leading armies across kingdoms. How is the Young Wolf going to handle being held back during lunch because he forgot to do his algebra worksheet?”

~

“What is it?”

“It looks a bit like wood, but shinier.”

“Do you think it’s safe? How can we be certain it isn’t a trap?”

The six strays had been left alone momentarily in the conference room, uncomfortably sat around the long polished table. Resentment and enmity had briefly given way to uneasy camaraderie as all were faced with adjusting to this strange, new reality. All around them were gadgets and gizmos that flashed and whirred. Electronics, so they had been named. Lannister, Stark or Targaryen, it was a relief to be in the presence of others who knew not what a ‘mobile phone’ was, nor one who had ever used a ‘computer’ or heated something in a ‘microwave’.

Back in Westeros, Lannisters, Targaryens and Starks were mortal enemies. Here in Cardiff, they were each other’s tribe. Something from home, if nothing else. 

Arya and Robb had clung to each other since the moment they laid eyes on the other. Despite being the children of the Usuper’s dogs, age and a common Lannister antagonism had drawn Daenerys towards the pair. 

Brienne, Jaime and Tyrion formed a similar threesome. Brienne had confided in Robb and Arya about her loyalty to their mother, but her companionship with the Kingslayer meant she was met with distrust and caution. What’s more, she had to admit that in this strange world, there was little she could do for them, except for keep a wary eye on those claiming to be their friends. So far they seemed trustworthy, even Doctor Owen Harper who had insisted on calling her ‘Freckles’ during her exam. 

Jaime got rather enraged and insisted that the doctor ‘Call the Wench by her name!’

Robb dubiously picked up the hard brown slab, giving it a sniff. “And Master Jones definitely said it was food?”

In her role of protector to the Starks, Brienne decided it was down to her to test out the strange delicacy put before them. But Daenerys; who had eaten a raw horse heart whilst pregnant, beat her to it. 

She bit into the ‘chocolate’, as it was called, and her eyes bulged and her body shuddered. The others watched her intently. Was she pleased? Disgusted? Poisoned? 

“Oh Gods,” she murmured, before devouring the rest of the bar. The taste exploded in her mouth, sweet yet thick and rich, coating her tongue and oozing around her teeth. For a moment she forgot she was in a strange land, far from her Khalasar and army of Unsullied. She forgot she had lost her children, lost her dragons, and at last felt a glimmer of hope that in this crazy, foreign world, there was a home for her. 

She opened her eyes to see the others watching her, waiting for her final opinion. Before them sat five more chocolate bars, waiting to be savoured. Dany’s eyes fixed upon them.

“It’s not that good,” she said, gulping down the final block. She reached out and swiped the rest. “I will just finish these for you.” 

~

With little love for home, and nothing left for him in Westeros but a crooked trial and death sentence, Tyrion wholeheartedly threw himself into satisfying his ardent intellectual curiosity. A whole new world to discover, a whole new history, filled with such ingenious creations.

Master Jones had offered to show him around the archives and allow him the opportunity toview artefacts of the past. The beauteous Toshiko Sato had made the enticing offer of helping him to master the computer, and had begun to enlighten him as to the boundless font of knowledge that was the internet. Ooooh decisions. 

“That’s my evening off!” Doctor Harper declared, striding from the medical bay. “It’s the pub and a little trip to a strip club for me.”

Tyrion’s curiosity was piqued. “Strip club?” he repeated. “May I take it that the stripping is of-”

“Busty beauties of their clothes,” Doctor Harper confirmed.

“Well,” Tyrion said, “That’s my plans for this evening sorted.”

~

Robb and Arya had been grateful to be given a quiet moment alone together. After the bustle of getting checked over and washed up and being presented with the plans for their future, the reality of their situation had begun to settle. Their delight at seeing one another also rubbed salt into the wound as they considered all they had lost. Robb had reluctantly told Arya of their uncle’s wedding to the Frey girl, and to the horrors he had left behind. He could not say with certainty if their mother was even alive.

It was peculiar for Robb, whose crown had fallen at his feet as he was thrown from the Rift, to hear himself referred to as ‘the kid’ or as one of ‘the children’. He was a man grown, wedded and bedded, raised by his father to lead his people with wisdom and honour. He had fought, he had killed, he had ruled. But in this twisted world he was little more than a child, and an uncommonly helpless one at that, with no family and so far from his home. 

Arya, who had known nothing but disorder and had being living at the fickle whims of others ever since their father’s death, reacted to this newest displacement with more ease. This time at least, she had her brother with her. Even if a secret part of herself mourned it wasn’t Jon, a relief to be with Robb seemed to overwhelm everything else. 

Gwen’s head popped round the corner, smiling tentatively. “We’ve ordered pizza, and I was thinking I could show you how to use YouTube. Times like this, cat videos are needed more than ever.”

They both had regrets, many. They would never bring vengeance for their family, no freedom for the North, no return to dear old grey walls of Winterfell. But there would be pizza and cat videos.

~

Daenerys lingered, lost and alone. Unlike her fellow travellers, everyone around her was a stranger. No friend nor family had fallen through the Rift with her. No dear Missandei or kindly Ser Barristan, nor Ser Jorah. And no dragons. Those dragons were the only family she had left, the only children she would ever have. And in a flash of light they were lost to her.

Gwen approached her softly and put a hand on her shoulder. “I was wondering if you fancied a change of clothes.” She gave Dany a slight squeeze. “Do you want to tell me what’s eating you?” she asked kindly.

“My dragons,” Daenerys confided in her the motherly Welsh woman. “I fear for how they will survive without their mother.”

Gwen nodded. Though she had never had a dragon suckle at her breasts, the dragon _was_ on her national flag, and when she was eight the family cat (Rufus) had disappeared for three days, so she had a little understanding of what the Mother of Dragons was going through.

She was at a loss for how to help the young girl, before she caught sight of Ianto strolling along the Hub with a bucket of fish heads. Myfawny’s dinner.

Well, a pterodactyl wasn’t _quite_ a dragon, but it was better than nothing.

“Hey Ianto!” she called, “I think I have a new helper for you!”

~

Jaime watched from the walkway as Brienne walked with Gwen Cooper, now dressed in normal Welsh clothing. ‘Captain’ Jack Pratness had lent Jaime a shirt and trousers, which Jaime accepted with ill grace. 

On the ground floor an excited Gwen Cooper interrogated Brienne about her knightly hi-jinks in Westeros. Far from the disgust and confusion Brienne was usually met with, Gwen only had awe for the warrior woman. When Gwen had first laid eyes on the young muscular woman, for a brief shining moment Gwen had hoped that she was about to meet Joan of Arc, and was swiftly discovering that Brienne of Tarth was no downgrade. With a zealous glee, she interrogated Brienne on her exploits in the battlefield.

“I’m truly sorry,” Jaime heard Brienne tell Mistress Cooper, “But I do not know of anyone by the name of Eowyn, and I would never remove my helmet _before_ striking the final blow.” 

“So…” Jack drawled, leaning on a banister beside Jaime. “Fucking your twin sister then? Don’t tell me she was as pretty as you.”

Jaime felt a pang at the mention of Cersei. Those long nights in Riverrun the thought of returning to Cersei’s lovely white arms had been all that kept him going. Now, his despair at having lost her was only slightly greater than his relief at being away from her.

“Cersei is the most exquisite woman in the kingdom,” Jaime said stiffly. “She is known as the Light of the West for her radiant beauty.”

Jack leered. “Oh I am so going to need to details,” he said, practically salivating over the bannister.

Jaime raised an eyebrow. “Most people are disgusted by the thought of us.” Brienne had certainly been. But then, everything about Jaime had disgusted her. She looked upon him with a kinder eye now. 

Jack chuckled. “I once went at it with a 6,000-foot tall fire squid. I tell you, Michael had eight tentacles and he knew what to do with each of them.”

Jaime found himself telling Captain Jack all about his relationship with Cersei, if for nothing else than to shut him up.

Ianto found Jack in his office a while later, lights off and silently brooding over a glass of whisky.

“Not tonight Ianto,” Jack told him as the latter tried to initiate some naked fun time. “I’m not in the mood tonight.

That was troubling.

“The story of the incestuous twins not as erotic as you had hoped, Sir?” Ianto asked.

“Not erotic at all,” Jack admitted bitterly. “It was gross. Gross, and kind of depressing.”

“Well sir, I’m afraid that is generally to be expected with incest.”

Jack shook his head. “Oh Ianto, believe me, the incest was the _least_ of their problems.” 

  
  



	2. Settling In

Taking the strays clothes shopping was an interesting affair. Simply getting to the shops was fraught with peril. Combined the lot may have fought in battles, raised dragons and endured hardships beyond even Gwen’s darkest nightmares, but none of them were prepared for the roar and screech of cars and buses zooming past them like great metal beasts. 

There were pleasures, as well. The children were enchanted by the doors opening for them, without the aid of servants. Arya had been delighted to find trousers and shorts made for girls, and insisted on buying a man’s shirt simply because it had an admittedly rather cool wolf on its front. Daenerys had spent her life wearing either soiled rags or priceless silks, but had insisted on doing most of her clothes shopping from souvenir shops, purchasing every t-shirt, jumper and hoodie with a Welsh dragon emblazoned on its front that she could get her hands on. 

Robb was the trickiest. Although he was never the most ostentatious of dressers, he had always dressed according to his rank. The simple jeans and t-shirts favoured by boys his age only reminded him of how far he was from his former life.

Gwen’s greatest struggle was not treating them as children. Life had forced them all to grow much too fast. Robb and Daenerys especially who, for all they had been ruled and been wedded, were still so very much children.

Gwen had nearly managed to end the shopping trip on a high when she introduced them to waffles and ice cream, but had forgotten to warn the trio about brain freeze. 

Ianto had taken Ser Jaime and Lord Tyrion to his tailor. They were an interesting pair. Gwen had gathered they had both been treated with scorn and disdain in their previous life, and yet their birth had left them both accustomed to constant obedient service. They accepted all of Torchwood's efforts to help them as their due, and returned them with little gratitude. 

Despite her noble birth, Brienne of Tarth seemed bashful and stiff in the face of Gwen’s assistance. 

“So what type of things would you like?” Gwen asked, browsing a rack of shirts.

“Whatever you think is best, Mistress,” Brienne mumbled, shoulders slouched.

“What do you prefer? Dresses, trouser?”

“It had better be trousers,” Brienne said, steadfastly trying to ignore the sniggers she was attracting from tow male youths in hoodies. Gwen caught their eyes and fixed them with her best ‘move along now please’ stare, until they slunked off with their hands in their pockets.

“You looked lovely in the blue dress you arrived in,” Gwen told Brienne encouragingly. “We should definitely get you some stuff in that shade of blue.”

A faint shade of pink spread across Brienne’s cheeks, but a slightly pleased smile tugged at her lips.

“Jaime said the blue looked well with my eyes,” she mumbled softly.

Gwen beamed. She knew there had been _something_ between the two, from the instinctual way they gravitated towards each other, and how their eyes sought after each other across the room. 

“Really?” she asked encouragingly. “What did you say?”

Brienne frowned. “I told him my bodice was padded.”

~

Naked but for the towel tied around his waist, Jaime scowled menacingly at the porcelain bath, the silver shower head looming menacingly overhead. Watching him with a thousand empty black eyes. Jaime had only been acquainted with the shower since last night, but he could tell that the shower was a cantankerous beast, flashing between ice cold to scorching hot in the matter of seconds. What’s more, Master Ianto Jones had helpfully informed him that most domestic households occurred from slips and falls in the shower. And that wasn’t even getting him started on the amount of times he had got shampoo into his eyes, sending him on a tortured, slippery rampage.

Jaime had found himself enchanted by the electrical appliances fitted into his new home. Despite being significantly smaller than Casterly Rock, the central heating, television, and running water proved a greater luxury than Tywin Lannister could have hoped to furnish his palatial home with. Even the lack of servants was no great hardship, with dishwashers and washing machines to clear his cutlery and clothes. Of course, laundry was much easier now that Jaime was getting blood on himself a whole lot less.

The shower, was a whole other matter. 

About to confront his newest foe, Jaime could not help his thoughts wandering towards Brienne. Brienne, who had held him so gently when he fainted in the baths at Harrenhal. Brienne, who had bathed him and nursed him. Brienne, who wouldn’t let him drown in the bath.

He turned back to the bathroom door and stuck his head out.

“Wench!” he called, dropping his towel. “Come at once to the bathroom! I am in urgent need of your assistance!”

~

Tyrion sighed, reaching out once more for his new mobile phone. He had only had it for a week, but it had already known good use. Ordering takeaway, arranging pub nights with Owen, but most of all, emergency calls to Toshiko Sato.

Brienne and Jaime were warriors, the battle instinct coursed in the lifeblood through their veins. In the face of an attack, their instincts were to defend. 

The first time Tyrion had tried watching some gruesome horror film on the television set, Jaime had come running from the kitchen at the sound of screams, and stabbed the screen with a steak knife. 

Toshiko the technical whizz had been gracious and patient when Tyrion first called her to help provide some emergency repairs.

Now long past the fifth time of such an incident, Tyrion suspected that Tosh was more than likely to hang up and leave them to deal with the smashed televisions set themselves. 

~

Robb credited himself with having settled in well into his new life. He was respectful towards his guardians, hard working for his teachers, and amiable with his classmates. He had made the rugby team, and was now the Dungeon Master for his Dungeon and Dragons group.

But for the once King in the North, there was still an aspect of modern day life he had yet to conquer. That eternal bane known to some as ‘the Homework Planner’. 

His form tutor requested that everyone in his class have their ‘Homework Planner’ signed every Weekend, ready for Monday morning. Forgetting once was a morning break detention, Three times was lunch. And yet, try as he might, Sunday evenings would come and go and Robb would once more forget to have his guardians sign the blasted thing. 

On the third morning of forgetting to have his planner signed, one of Robb’s new friends who had a tricky hand offered to forge the signature for him. Robb was sorely tempted, for it was pizza in the school canteen that day. But Robb might have lost his home, his family and his title, but he could not forget the teachings he had been brought up with. Such an act of cowardice and deception, t’would be dishonourable, and a desecration of his father’s memory.

For honour’s sake, Robb took his punishment like a man and resigned himself to spending Pizza Thursday with Mr Pilkinson, scraping gum out from the bottom of the desks. 

~

Daenerys; now known officially as Dany, was also adjusting to her new life. She was liked by peers and teachers alike, even if the first few days at school had been rocky, with Dany constantly having to reaffirm that y _es,_ that was her natural hair colour, _no,_ she couldn’t take out her fake eye lenses because she wasn’t wearing any, and _no,_ she was not, in fact, an albino. 

Nonetheless, far from her dragons, Dany could not help but feel a part of her soul was missing. There were times when she felt an ache in her gut so cruel that she could barely stand.

It was only the afternoons when Ianto would pick her up from school and take her to the Hub that eased her pain. Ianto had never seen Myfanwy so sociable, or so he told Dany. Usually she was reluctant to come near him. Dany could feed the pterodactyl from the palm of her hand.

She may no longer be the Mother of Dragons anymore, but Daenerys found that the new title Ianto had bestowed upon, Tamer of Pterodactyls, was nearly as good. 

And it was alliterative. 

~

It was not uncommon for Arya to be held back after class. She was clever, and liked to learn, but the further away she was from Harrenhal and those who would slice out her tongue for talking too loud, the more boisterous and restless she became. For every achievement point she earned for hard work, she lost another for talking in class.

She was on particularly bad terms with her Maths tutor, a cantankerous old woman who scoffed and scorned the enthusiasm of her more intelligent students, whilst berating and harassing the slower students. She encouraged the middling students in their mockery of both groups, disdaining excellence and ignorance alike. 

Arya naturally fell into the middling group. She had a good head for maths, but lacked the grounding of her fellow students. Instead of fading happily in the background, Arya; who had witnessed cold blooded tortured, wrongful executions, and brutal violence, was not going to let herself be cowed by Mrs Cecil, and had been sent from the classroom in disgrace many a times for talking back.

Her PE teacher, on the other hand, Arya was on good terms with, even if Ms Holden had to ask her on several occasions not to be quite so aggressive with her hockey stick. When Arya was called from the changing room with her tie undone and shorts still on, she couldn’t for the life of her think what she had done wrong. It had been gymnastics that day, no contact whatsoever, and she had been given five achievement points for demonstrating a flawless back-flip.

Ms Holden smiled at seeing Arya approach. 

“Arya, are you in any clubs outside of school?” she asked.

Arya shook her head. Her guardians had encouraged her to try out a few, arguing it would broaden her horizons. But the x-box had yet to prove boring and Arya considered her horizons broad enough.

“Well, I think you should start coming to our gymnastics group,” Ms Holden said, passing Arya a shiny purple leaflet. “We meet every Saturday.”  
  
Arya looked at the leaflet, intrigued. “I’ll think about it,” she promised.

“Do,” said Ms Holden encouragingly. “I think you have real talent. Have you had gymnastic lessons before?”

“Gymnastics? No.”  
  


“Well what about dancing? Have you had dancing classes?”

Arya hesitated. “Well, in a manner of speaking.”

~

Adjusting to modern day had been the hardest for Brienne and Jaime. Tyrion relished the intellectual opportunities made available to him, and the young ones were beginning to truly forge a place for themselves in this new world. 

But Brienne and Jaime were finding there was little place for knights in modern day Cardiff. True, they enjoyed the luxuries this new world afforded them. And there was something pleasing knowing that they were in all probability going to live well into their eighties, as opposed to being decapitated on the battlefield or burnt alive at the stake. Apart from keeping a healthy distance from the pubs at closing time on a Saturday night, Brienne and Jaime found themselves engulfed in a most alien sense of safety, that was as stifling as it was comforting.

A year had gone, the novelty was wearing off, and they had found themselves aimless and bored.

The solution to their problem, came from the steadfast Mistress Cooper. She had first brought up the idea, contacted the potential employers, and drove them to their interview at Cardiff Castle.

But not before returning Jaime’s confiscated armour, and sourcing a new suit for Brienne.

“I was worried about finding you a suit that fit,” Gwen admitted. “But you will be surprised at how much medieval stuff that comes through the Rift. We’ve got some lances as well, if you fancy putting on a jousting display. And no end of chamber pots if you clog up the toilet.”

Jaime accepted the replacement sword. It had always been his intention to bestow the Valyrian steel upon Brienne.

In time, Brienne and Jaime were the star attraction of Cardiff Castle. 

Their choreographed sword displays were commended for their ferocity and historical accuracy, and tickets for their joust re-enactments were sold out within hours of being posted online.

They were just so _realistic_. 

Most popular of all were their Junior Knights’ Workshops. A notion of the castle’s, Brienne and Jaime had been reluctant at first, but children clamoured for a chance to take up the sword for themselves, and care worn mothers clamoured for a chance to offload their kids and watch the handsome Sir Jaime Goldenhand up close and personal. 

Although grateful to be active, and to have his blade in hand once more (be it the left one) Jaime felt troubled for a time to see the customs of knighthood used for mere spectacle.

That was until he was approached by a friendly faced couple, gently coaxing their young son towards the training ring. Jaime at once saw the reason for the boy’s reluctance. The child had a brace around his leg that caused him to limp.

“Come on Harry,” the mother said kindly, “You’ve been desperate to do this all week.”

Harry shook his head. “Everyone will laugh at me,” he muttered. 

Jaime found himself striding towards the family, and knelt before the shy young boy. Jaime awkwardly revealed his stump, nodding solemnly at the child.

“I lost this hand in a fearsome battle, defending the honour of a fair maid,” he told Harry. “When I lost my hand I thought never again would I pick up a sword. But it is the moments when we say no to defeat, tell our weaknesses that we will not be vanquished, and choose to fight another day that we are at our most courageous. And in coming here I can tell you are braver than any other child I have ever taught. Now if you do not wish to take part in my lesson, then that is your choice. But either way, I would be honoured if you would bear my standard in today’s joust.”

And on seeing the boy’s radiant face as he carried Jaime’s fluttering polyester flag, Jaime’s earlier qualms about the honour of his work faded. 

Any doubts left in Jaime’s mind were vanished by Brienne.

Brienne was handing out wooden swords to a queue of their newest students, when she caught sight of a sobbing little girl being dragged away by the wrist by a hatchet faced woman.

“Please Auntie Karen!” the little girl wailed. “Please let me go to the knight school.”

“Fighting isn’t for girls Lucy,” Auntie Karen sniffed. “Do you want to end up looking like that big ugly woman in armour?”

“Excuse me?” Brienne called, her voice calm and even. “Do you wish to repeat that?”

Brienne strolled towards Lucy and her bitch of an Aunt, a wooden toy sword in hand. Auntie Karen began stuttering out apologies, her nervous mutterings quenched by Brienne’s severe scowl.

Brienne softened her face and dropped to her knee before an overawed Lucy. 

“One does not need to be a man to be a true knight,” Brienne whispered to the girl conspiratorially. “All one needs is a loyal heart, fierce spirit, and an honourable cause worth fighting for.” Brienne proffered the wooden blade to the overawed little girl, hilt first. “Now take up your sword and prove your worth.”

Lucy took the sword tremulously, shook herself free of her aunt and followed after Brienne’s bold strides with a skip and a hop, a rapturous look on her face.

From where Jaime had been watching, fixated on Brienne, he heard a longing sigh from a pretty young woman in her early twenties. 

  
“Isn’t she gallant?” the woman asked, with not a small amount of lust in her voice. “She’s almost like a true knight.”

Jaime turned to her, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Good Mistress, why do you say ‘ _almost’_ like a true knight. Is it not clear that she is the most noble, and truest of knights?”


End file.
